Where the Streets Have No Name
by thestreets
Summary: When a terrible deed sends ripples through Manhattan newsie community, everyone is forced to pick a side. But not everything is as it seems; everyone has a secret, and no one is safe from betrayal. Will our heroes persevere? Is anyone truly a hero?
1. Prologue

**(Authors' note - welcome welcome! This is the first of many chapters to come for this fic. Each chapter will have which of the three authors wrote it, and you can look up here in the author's notes to find out which characters will be featured in the chapter. It's a big cast, but hopefully that will make it easier to follow each story line! Enjoy, and don't forget to leave FB!)**

**Prologue**

By **Stretch**

The day was bright, the sun was shining, and Jack squinted his brown eyes to keep the afternoon sun from adding anymore beaming brightness to his day. The heat was enough; he didn't need to go blind in his efforts to make a living. However, as he held up his arm and prepared to shout another headline, Racetrack suddenly burst through the crowd, red-faced and breathless. Typically, only one thing could get a man that frantic and desperate looking, and Jack didn't want to know her name or what she had decided to name their first child.

"Jack!" Race called out once within mere feet of the other boy, trying to catch his breath and speak at once, choking on his words. "You… you gotta come! Quick! Midtown, they said they found a kid. Jack, it's bad."

The blinding light seemed to become the least of his worries as all the possible situations flooded through the cowboy's head. Someone was hurt, sick, kidnapped, lost their mind in the butcher's district or, possibly worst of all, this was simply a joke and he was going to have to kill someone to make up for it. Regardless, as Jack all but dropped his papers and ran toward Midtown, his lack of knowledge about where he was supposed to go and who he was supposed to see seemed to be on the back burner.

"Jack! Jack, damn it, wait up!" Racetrack called out to him, the considerably shorter newsie running as fast as his legs could manage, calling out directions between strained breaths. Even the smaller Italian man had a problem wrapping his mind around the situation, his heart pumping and his ears ringing as he focused on simply getting Jack to the scene.

As they approached the shady neighborhood only faintly familiar to Jack, a crowd became visible, their eyes transfixed on the ground below. So, perhaps this wasn't a joke and he wouldn't have to kill anyone, but he found himself wishing it were only that simple.

Stopping short of the boundary formed by the growing mass, Jack shoved his way through, the sight becoming clearer as people made way for the Duane Street leader. While it was true the newsboy lodging house went through lodgers like a hooker went through clients, Jack noticed this one right off, the nameless, past-less boy laying there as if he were playing dead.

…He was only playing, wasn't he? Surely there were better games to play, even in the streets of Manhattan, and Jack would be all too happy to show the kid he had dubbed "Joe" only days before how to throw a ball around or whatever kids did for fun. This kid needed a new hobby, though as Jack leaned down to inspect the poor kid's form, he slowly realized he was never going to find one, because someone else had clearly exercised their hobby on poor Joe.

"Jack, we…we can't stay here. The bulls will be here any minute," Racetrack informed him, ever the voice of reason.

The bulls. Where were they when this kid was clearly in a head-on collision with someone else's fist? Surely scarfing down a few jelly donuts as they compared guns to compensate for… other things. And now, thanks to their absence, their newest lodger was laying there with his face almost unrecognizable behind the bruises and the blood, looking more like an abused doll than an eleven year old boy.

"Who did this?" Jack asked suddenly, standing up with a fire in his eyes like Zac Efron with a purpose. He was going to give whoever was responsible a little payback – bet on it. "What happened?"

Race shook his head, lighting a cigarette to make use of his otherwise shaky hands. "Nobody knows. Blink saw 'im last – said he told him he was getting too close to Jet's territory with his selling spot, but the kid said he'd be fine."

"I guess we know, then, huh?" At Race's quizzical look, Jack rolled his eyes. "I knew that guy was bad news. Him and all his boys; bullyin' people into buying papes, starting trouble all the time. But this…"

"What are you going to do?" the other boy asked, anxiously taking another drag from his cigarette.

Jack stood there for a moment, seemingly in a daze, Race furrowing his eyebrows in concern as his friend took an unnecessarily long dramatic pause before inserting himself back in reality. "We get even, Race. We get even."


	2. One Way or Another

**(Author's note - hi guys! Here's the first chapter, and it will be featuring Firecracker/Dutchy, Jack/Erin, Relic/Ryker, and Shooter/Blink. Enjoy, and thank you to all who've reviewed so far! We read them all and smile, it's like candy but better. :-) )**

**Chapter 1: One Way or Another**

by **Relic**

"A war? Really?" Firecracker, a gregarious girl with brilliant red curls and wide brown eyes, looked around the table at her friends and boyfriend, frowning. "We don't even know if those guys from Midtown did it."

"Yeah, seems like we're getting ahead of ourselves," Dutchy said, always one to back his girlfriend, as he slung an arm around her waist and idly rubbed her back.

With over a year together, Firecracker and Dutchy were by far the longest-lasting couple of the four couples currently sitting in a booth in Tibby's diner together. Kind and caring, the two made love look easy, and it was no real surprise that they were not going to be divided on this issue.

Jack shook his head emphatically, well aware of the twosome's united front and looking for something to help his case. "We need to clear those bums out, run 'em out of town; you didn't see what they did to Joe. They beat him to death, you want to let that slide? Want to be next? I got all kinds of sources telling me that they did it, and they've been celebrating about it. Figured they'd use him as a warning to the rest of us to stay off their turf."

"But Jack, are you sure this is the way to go? It's not a war if nobody can win it, and all I hear from what you're saying is that a bunch of people are going to get hurt," Relic offered, looking to her boyfriend for support and thumbing through her brown hair uncomfortably. Though usually outgoing and friendly, Relic was noticeably quieter and seemed to take cues from her boyfriend of a few months when they were together, so she hoped just this once he'd return the favor.

Unfortunately for her, Ryker, the boyfriend in question, was no Dutchy. In fact, he simply looked annoyed at being dragged into the conversation and consequently away from playing with the buttons on Relic's shirt. "So what, we break a few heads. As long as the people getting hurt are from their territory and not ours, I don't see the problem. Don't see why you girls get a vote, anyway; not like this involves you much. Most you'll do is play nurses and use your feminine wiles when we need it. And you'll all look great in those little nurses outfits."

"Cute, Ryker. Wiles, too, I'm impressed – did you learn a new word and feel like sharing?" Firecracker shot, earning her a grateful look from Relic and a rather dirty one from Ryker, which didn't suit his otherwise handsome face.

"I heard you learned something new in our broom closet the other day, do _you_ feel like sharing? I don't know if there's enough room here for you to knee-" A sharp elbow from Relic finally cut him off, and he simply patted his girlfriend's leg and sat back, shooting Fire a smug smile as she glared at him with absolute fury.

Oh, if Fire ever found out who told him, there would be hell to pay! She quickly turned her head to look over at Dutchy for some sort of reassurance, but was met only by his usual calm demeanor.

"Don't listen to him," he whispered, his lips hovering closer to her temple. "Just don't listen." Slowly, Fire's eyes rolled. What kind of response was that? Any other man would've been over that table in a matter of seconds! But, no, not her Dutchy. He was far too logical for that. 

"They get a vote because they're gonna to be involved, just being connected with us. I don't want my girl getting jumped by a bunch of angry guys because of where I live and sell my papes," Blink put in, attempting to smooth over the tension and casting a concerned look at Shooter, who sat quietly next to him. As far as he was concerned, he'd just gotten her; he wasn't about to lose her over a fight he still wasn't sure had anything to do with him.

Shooter's hazel eyes glanced around the room for a few moments, looking a bit awkward as the attention of all her companions seemed to focus in on her. The newest to the group, she was shy and often felt a bit out of place with such a large and casual group, but she was adapting. It helped that Blink had noticed the pretty brunette immediately upon her arrival and had been wooing her since, pushing her to get out more and subsequently meeting more fellow newsies.

Finally she managed, with a slightly apologetic smile at Blink, "Maybe it's not such a bad idea, you know, just to push back a little. Show them they can't do that. I don't know about running them out of town, but just, I don't want to have to bury any of you guys next time one of you gets too close to their turf."

"Exactly. We didn't start this – they did. We can't just sit back and do nothing. They brought the fight to our door, we're just answering," Jack said, looking a bit relieved that the others were slowly starting to come around.

"Nobody's girl is going to get hurt. None of our boys are gonna get hurt, not if I have anything to say about it. We'll show 'em who's boss and send them packing to somewhere else so that we're safe again. That's what we all want, right?"

"Jack's already talked to most of the other guys, and they're in it. Joe was a nice kid, someone should pay," Erin, Jack's girlfriend and the last at the table to speak, offered up. Typically bubbly and sweet, with short black hair and bright green eyes, she looked uncharacteristically intense and serious at the moment. "Honest, something like this was probably overdue. We all know the selling spots around here are getting tight; just not room for all of us with the city growing like it is. If they go, we'll all be better off."

"I just don't know if this is the way. Feels wrong," Dutchy said, running his free hand through his blonde hair and sighing, a sure sign that he was near defeat.

Jack jumped on it. "Come on, guys. Have I ever led you wrong? We got respond hard and fast, before something worse happens. It'll be better for all of us."

The four couples all sat back in the booth, clearly divided. Finally, looking a bit torn, Blink cast a glance at each of his friends. "If this is what you think is best, Jack… we're in."

Patting him on the back enthusiastically, Jack smiled, and the tension seemed to lift from the table. "That's my boys." Pause. "And you girls, too, of course. You'll see, this thing will be over before you know it."

"It better be," Relic said, before rising to her feet and nudging Ryker. "We better go, I've got to sell the rest of my afternoon papers and turn in early. Are you coming to Brooklyn with me tomorrow?"

Ryker made a face. "Why would I do that? That's a hell of a walk."

"Well, it's going to be near dark by the time I start walking back and I just thought it would be nice if…" she trailed off upon his look of boredom.

"Yeah… I got stuff to do. You'll be fine." He waved his hand dismissively and gave her a pat on the behind for good measure. That was reassuring, right?

"Congratulations Ryker, you win for the worst boyfriend ever. Now you just need to go get drunk and come home swinging, then you'll really be a catch," Fire shot, apparently still a bit miffed over the previous exchange. It helped that she just hated Ryker, as a general rule.

Jack cut off Ryker's response before the two could go at it again, instead nodding to Relic. "Seems like you're going to Brooklyn a lot; you're pretty good friends with Spot now, right?"

"Come on, Jack, you know as well as I do that nobody can say they're good friends with Spot Conlon. Hard enough to tell which days he's even going to tolerate you. We're friendly though, I think, why? … Oh." The light seemed to come on all at once with Relic and she immediately shook her head. "No way, Jack, I'm not asking him to get involved with this. I'm not risking pissing him off – what are you trying to do to me? You do your own dirty work."

"Relax, relax. I just want you to tell him what's going on, if you see him while you're there, and if it comes up," Jack said, earning a snort from Erin, though she immediately covered her face when he glanced over at her. After all, everyone at the table knew him well enough to not be buying this 'casual' sales pitch he was currently trying to toss. "Just mention it to him, if you get a chance, that's all I'm asking. Just so he's in the know."

"If I see him, and if it comes up, I might. But no promises; you know he doesn't do favors and he hates being asked." Looking unhappy, she headed for the door, Ryker tossing Fire a saucy wink before getting up and following her out.

"If someone from our side has to get hurt, I know my vote," Fire spat, before loosening up a bit and smiling at Shooter and Blink. "Big one month mark this Friday, right?"

"Sure is," Blink said, kissing Shooter on the cheek as she blushed. "We got a whole night planned."

"Not that he'll tell me what the plans are," Shooter laughed, feeling a bit more relaxed with less people around.

"It's a surprise," Blink stated simply, winking at her. He loved her laugh, and always brightened a bit more than usual upon hearing it. "And I only ever have good surprises."

"Yeah, yeah, wait until you have to sleep near him. I wouldn't exactly call his snoring a 'good' surprise," Jack chuckled, leaning back quickly to avoid a good-natured swing of Blink's cap. "We gotta head out, too; Erin wants to catch that new flicker up town, good thing selling was decent today."

Waving and laughing as they left, Erin waited until they got out of the diner before she turned to look at Jack, that same serious expression on her face. "What you said back there – you believe it, right? This is going to be okay?"

"I'm going to make sure it's okay," Jack assured her, pulling her to him and kissing her for a long moment. "I promise, alright? Nothing else is going to happen to my boys, and you know I'd never let anything happen to you."

"It's just – someone's dead, Jack. This isn't a game, I'm afraid this could really get ugly," she confided, but generally seemed appeased by his answer. After all, why shouldn't she? Jack had truly never lead her wrong in all the time they'd been together. Of course, there was a first time for everything...

"It might get ugly, but only for them," he said, and when she shot him a questioning look, he simply smiled his trademark grin. "Cheer up, Erin. I got a plan."

Meanwhile, they were not the only ones who were waiting to speak once the diner door shut. "I don't know about this. They beat a kid to death for no reason; what're they gonna do to us?" Dutchy asked, despite his three companions looking as lost as he did.

"We'll just wait and, see what Jack comes up with. If they're willing to go that far, maybe it is time to take 'em out," Blink reasoned. "Not like they're the most popular guys, anyway. If it gets tense, we'll bring in friends. This'll probably be over quick as it started, and we can get back to normal."

"Hope so. I could use some normal," Dutchy agreed.

Unfortunately for Dutchy, he missed the exasperated look that flashed upon Fire's face at his comment. She was so sick of 'normal'… She put on a smile, though, and nodded. "I'm sure you're right, Blink. It'll be over before we know it. It'll be okay."

It was Shooter, though, who delivered the final, quiet question that left them with a sick feeling in their stomachs and uncertainty swelling in their chests. "What if it's not?"


	3. Under Pressure

**(Author's note - . Included this chapter are: Racetrack/Talia, Specs/Stretch, Skittery and Rachel)**

**Chapter 2: Under Pressure**

by **Firecracker**

"All in boys! Who's ready for the next hand?" Racetrack Higgins looked triumphantly after winning the first poker hand of the night. His trademark cigar dangled precariously from the corner of his mouth as his arms closed greedily around his meager prize of two cigarettes, a penny and a button -- which was without a doubt Skittery's smartass idea of a contribution to the pot. Displeased by the lack of a response, Race quickly picked his head back up to look at the other boys, his forehead quickly furrowing. "Come on already, ya bums! I asked who's ready for the next hand!"

In light of Joe's recent murder and the impending turf war that Jack was adamant about starting, the general mood of the card players was significantly darker than normal and Race couldn't take it. Just because things were rough for everyone in the lodging house, it didn't mean that no one was allowed to have any fun! He sighed heavily and took another puff of his cigar before dealing out the cards for the next hand, these bums were going to play whether they liked it or not.

Specs pushed his glasses back over the bridge of his nose before looking down at his hand. He placed them face down on the table again and sighed to himself. Something about this just didn't feel right and, looking across the table at Skittery, he could clearly see that he wasn't alone . "I'm out," he stated simply without even giving his cards a second look. Sometimes, there were just some feelings that even a poker game couldn't cure. "What about you, Skitts?"

Before Skittery could give his answer, Rachel peeked over his shoulder at his hand, her long brown braid falling lightly over Skittery's shoulder. "He's in," she replied with a grin before giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"Hey, Rachel, come on," Skittery quickly protested before he slammed the cards down on the table. He was almost free of having to play the hand! His dark eyes narrowed slightly at the girl who had taken a seat beside him, but she simply flashed him a smile. Slowly, he returned it in spite of himself and shook his head, picking his cards back up. "I guess I'm in."

"That's what I like to hear," Race said with a grin as he finally picked up his cards. He took the butt of the cigar out of his mouth and tossed it aside. "Your girl, Skitts, she's a smart one."

"Makes up for the smarts he doesn't have," Stretch joked, cutting off protests from Skittery and Rachel (who were not a couple, according to them at least) as she sauntered over to the table, her tall, figureless form swaying as much as she could allow it. "Isn't that right, Glum and Dumb?" She walked past Race on her way to Specs and innocently dropped the still-glowing cigar butt in front of him on the table. "You lost that." 

Specs held in a smirk as he watched Race quickly flick the cigar off of the rest of the deck of cards, his head soon turning to his girlfriend once she had taken her seat beside him. "Where'd you come from?"

"Well, some tell me I came from my mother," Stretch replied quickly as her elbows rested casually on the makeshift tabletop, pieces of blond hair falling into her face. "Or you could just say the girls and I decided to see what the three of you were doing. Isn't that right?"

Specs shook his head, unable to keep his rather wide mouth from turning up in a grin, Stretch simply looking casual about the whole thing. They had been together for a good six months and had grown into that comfortable stage, unlike the budding love of Kid Blink and Shooter, who she had guessed were the ones romping it up downstairs if it weren't for Shooter's more reputable reputation. No, things were comfortable, as evident when she took a drag from his cigar without question and played idly with his winnings.

"She's right," Talia agreed as she took a seat between Specs and Race, her hand reaching up to brush an auburn curl out of her eyes. "We didn't think that you'd actually be playing poker." It was really no surprise she had found herself alongside Race, the pair of them stubborn as mules, sarcastic as they come, but more loyal than anyone you could ask for. It was also no wonder she found herself curious at his current hand and his status in the game. Gambling, for better or worse, was another shared trait.

"Why wouldn't we?" Race asked quickly, a smug grin on his face as he quickly glanced over at Specs and then Skittery. Now they had no choice but to play! "Like I always say, no better distraction than a good girl, a good hand of cards, and a good smoke." He took one last look at his cards before setting them back down on the table. "Last chance to place your bets, boys. Specs, are you in or not?"

Specs lifted his head again, his glasses sliding back down towards the front of his nose. Honestly, he hadn't heard a single thing Race had said since Stretch and the other girls showed up. "What?" he asked as his hand idly slid over the cards that he had quickly set aside a few minutes prior.

"Your hand," Talia answered, an eager smile on her face as Race's free hand slowly crept around her shoulder. "Are you gonna play?"

"If I'm playing, you're playing," Skitts commented before handing Rachel a penny to put in for his bet. She tossed the penny in, her dark blue eyes bright with anticipation. This was going to be a good hand.

Specs sighed as he glanced over at Stretch, a pleading look in his eyes. Maybe she'd have some sympathy at least!

"Just play," Stretch replied with a shrug, her chin resting in the palms of her hands. After all, watching the boys play poker was a hell of a lot more fun than trying to guess who was making the incriminating noises that were currently coming from behind the locked door of the broom closet.

Defeated, Specs picked his cards back up and tossed in another cigarette, "I'm in."


	4. Voices Carry

**(Author's note - Featured characters for this chapter are David, Sweet Tart, Tragic, Snoddy/Echo, Bumlets/Rogue, and Ryker.)**

**Chapter 3: Voices Carry**

by **Stretch**

The lights flashed on the stage as the curtains rose, the pianist cracking his knuckles as the evening entertainment began. With the events earlier in the day, those within Irving Hall were still trying to wrap their minds around the idea that one of their own was dead. An eleven year old boy was beaten to death for no other purpose than sheer enjoyment of twisted individuals, and those currently sitting in the back of the theater were trying to swallow the thought while downing a few drinks.

"I can't say I'm not worried about what Jack has planned," David said, one of the few opting for a lighter drink as even some of the females were downing a series of wicked shots.

"Oh, Davey, why should you worry? When has Jack ever done anything rash or…wait," Sweet Tart teased, at least as much as she could, taking a sip from her gin and tonic.

At her remark, David couldn't help but send her a smile, forgetting his anxiety for a moment and even chancing a chuckle. She, however, didn't seem to notice as she watched the piano player and sent him a wink, biting her lip and hiding a green eye behind her red hair.

"Jack's not really the guy that pulls a stupid stunt without thinking about it. Besides, he ain't led us wrong yet, right?" voiced Snoddy, breaking David's attention from Sweet Tart. Though, the girl still seemed rather preoccupied with the musician across the room, anyway.

"Yet," Tragic felt the need to add, sending Snoddy a look, smiling despite the serious tone in her words. "One of us hasn't been killed yet, either, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to happen," she continued, her tone becoming more serious as she glanced in the direction Sweet Tart was glancing at. A swell of jealousy coming over her before she quickly turned her head back to present company, her good hand, or only hand, toying with a cigar as the stumped end off her left arm lay there useless on the table. She had longed to be up there, her fingers fluttering over the keys as her father's had done, but she simply tossed her dark curls out of her olive face and decided to return to the conversation.

"You really think he's the type to, you know…I don't know," Echo tried, nervously attempting to voice her own concerns as she sidled up beside Snoddy, watching as several members of their little group attempted to dance away their own nerves as the music rose to a rather high, up-tempo number.

Sighing deeply, David took a drink and offered, "Dunno. Whatever happens, though, we can't split up. This has gotten serious. He said they were laughing about it up in Midtown. Laughing. I mean, if someone did that to Les…" Trailing off, David decided to steal Bumlets' glass while he danced with Rogue, feeling the need for alcohol at the mere thought of the same fate meeting his little brother.

"Well, it didn't happen to Les, and nothing will, alright?" came Flare firmly, idly biting her nails as she opted to join the discussion. The fact she had said anything relevant at all, however, was enough to get everyone at the table to look, surprised at the thought that she voiced anything that made sense. The bobbed-blond was typically mentioning something asinine, such as how horses gave birth or whether or not newspaper could feel considering it once came from a living thing, rather than voicing anything serious at all. If Flare was snapped into reality enough to make sense, this had to be a serious occasion.

Tragic seemed to be the first to snap back from shock, voicing a phrase she never believed she would considering the usual conversation Flare tended to get involved in. "Flare's right," seemed to say it all, the usually perky girl glancing around her table with an increased feeling of apprehension, Irving Hall considerably less cheery than it had been mere days, even hours before. How some could be dancing was beyond her, but she supposed others dealt with grief or shock in ways different than she did.

"Does Jack have a plan or, well, do you have one and is he going to use it?" Snoddy asked, attempting to prepare for the worst and putting an arm around Echo when the girl began to nervously chew on her nails. He didn't blame her, and he knew he had to help protect her in whatever way he could. However, he found his arm soon shrugged off, the girl apparently too caught up in her current thoughts to want to be touched.

"We're supposed to talk about it tomorrow, at lunch. Figure out a plan, or a plan for the plan or something. I think we're all still trying to figure things out. I mean, an eleven year old!" David finished, slamming his drink down in a show of true Davey emotion.

At the loud 'clank' to the table, Echo jumped, biting her nail so hard she drew blood from her fingertip. The brunette hissed in pain, carefully tucking her brown curls behind her ear as she inspected the damage. "Watch it, Dave. Give me a heart attack, why don't you?" she finally voiced, wrinkling her small nose as she blotted the blood away with Snoddy's sleeve.

The boy sent her an apologetic glance before opting to gather himself once more, putting his anxiety regarding his little brother on the back-burner for the moment. "Is everyone here going to show up? We all need to be in this, together, or we got nothing to keep this from happening again.

A series of nods answered his solemn question, save for Sweet Tart whose mind continued to wander. Or, more her eyes.

"Sweet Tart?" the boy asked in a gentler tone, carefully touching her hand to get her attention, the girl simply twitching it absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, I'll be there. I'll be right back, okay?" she finally offered, sending the table a wink as the piano stopped its melody. The girl was apparently out for a bit more entertainment than the grimness of her current table was providing her, several of her fellow newsies rolling their eyes as David simply looked on as she sauntered away.

Within a moment, a breathless Rogue and Bumlets rejoined the table, the raven-haired boy taking one look at his depleted alcohol supply and sending Snoddy a look considering, after all, who would suspect David? Snoddy simply held his hands up in innocence as Rogue watched the red-headed Tart walk away.

"Did I miss something?" she asked, having been a little preoccupied in enjoying what she could of a ruined day with a close friend, though her attention was once more taken from the table as a familiar face entered the theater and, with a wicked grin, opted to join their little group.

"Evening," Ryker greeted them all with his typical smirk, those who knew him well enough (all of them knowing him more than they would have liked) not surprised to see him sans his girlfriend.

That didn't stop Tragic from voicing the obvious, resting her chin against her handless arm. "Where's Relic, Ryker?"

"Hell if I know. Oh, Brooklyn or some shit. She had to meet someone or something," he answered, waving off her question as he sent the nervous Echo a wink, causing the girl to unintentionally grin in return.

"Charming, Ryker," Tragic returned with eyebrows arched over her hazel eyes, which finally got the boy to look over at her, unamused.

"Cute. Look, could you put that thing away or something, it's really starting to creep me out," he voiced, sending a look toward her stump before going back to looking over the other females of the table, Snoddy none too pleased to have his Echo as one of the sights for the evening.

Seeing the potential danger in the situation, David cleared his throat and asked Ryker, "You were at lunch with Jack today, right? He find anything out? Anything we need to know?"

"I don't know. He's got some plan or something. I think he's going to try and get everyone together to talk about it, say something loud and inspirational before we storm something. I wasn't really listening," he replied, his eyes still glancing at the intact females of the table, asking an ever-so charming, "So, who wants to get me a drink?"


	5. Ready, Steady, Go

**(Author's Note - Thank you very much to Pegasus, Talia, Tragic, Aris1013 and Shooter for the feedback, we appreciate so much and it really keeps us going! This part will feature Fishah, Crash, Cap, Jenna, Spot, Relic, Ninja/Sig, Prince and Bristol!)**

**Chapter 4: ****Ready, Steady, Go**

by **Relic**

The day had been a long one, but that didn't keep the girls' lodging house from buzzing late into the night with news of the impending turf dispute. Two bunks in the corner were particularly chatty, the four girls leaning off the edges of their bunks in order to speak without waking some of their sleeping neighbors.

"I heard they got plans to off all the younger boys from Duane Street, one at a time," Fishah said, tugging at her long, dirty blonde hair. "Doubt it's true, though."

Crash, a small girl with stringy blonde hair and green eyes, shook her head. "Can't be. I just don't get it – Jet and his boys are rough around the edges, but I know some of them. A little rock-headed, but I just can't see them doing something like this."

"But they did," Cap reminded the two softly. The quietest of the four, by far, the girl was a natural wallflower, with brown hair, brown eyes and a general look that blended right into the crowd. It was rare that she got involved in such conversations, so the other girls became silent as they mulled over her words.

The fourth and final member of their little bunkbed quartet, Jenna, twirled a finger around her curly brown hair. "Pie's nervous. Me, too; I mean, what's this mean for us? Some of the girls here sell up by Midtown. Having to choose sides could make this place real uncomfortable. Not like it's great to begin with."

The others nodded in understanding. For the other three, if it got tough or came down to violence, they could claim neutrality. But Jenna had been seeing Pie Eater for a few months now, so it was obvious where her loyalties, as well as the other girls in their house that were dating boys from Duane Street, would have to lie.

"This'll work out," Fishah said, after another long silence. "Now, we should get some sleep. War or not, we got papes to sell come dawn."

"Goodnight," the girls all echoed, before rolling over and attempting to fall into troubled sleeps. With one person dead already and the potential for such a divide among friends, they all knew this was past the point of working out.

* * *

"Do it again." 

Relic sighed, putting down the slingshot. "Eight times, and I haven't hit the bottle. I think it's time to call it quits; I'm just not good enough to hit that far away, yet."

Spot, who had previously been looking over her shoulder and had issued the order, gave her a look that bordered perilously close to scornful. "And how do you think you're gonna get better, wishing on a lucky star? There ain't no quitters in Brooklyn."

"But we've got lots of quitters in Manhattan. Seems to work okay for them," Relic offered hopefully, but shut her mouth rather quickly and took aim at the bottle once more when Spot gave her another look. Apparently, when it came to slingshots, Spot Conlon did not take jokes well. "Just saying."

"Cut the girl a break, Spot," Ninja called, only looking mildly unsettled when he turned his glare onto her. After all, given that she was currently nestled comfortably in the arms of Sig, Spot's right-hand man, she knew she had a slight pass. "Just be nice, or else she'll quit that slingshot and these little stop-offs she makes, altogether. And, she brings cookies, so, just be charming."

Spot couldn't deny that Ninja had a point, so he simply gave her a warning look and went back to helping Relic with her aim. It had turned into a weekly thing, Relic dropping by after delivering a couple packages (the walk was long, but it was a decent side job), and he enjoyed the new face. The cookies she always got from one of her package recipients helped, as well. Besides, she didn't annoy him like a lot of girls (especially non-Brooklyn girls), so as much as he'd never admit it, he didn't want her to stop coming.

Ninja leaned back against Sig, picking up a rock and tossing it out over the dock and into the water as she watched Relic miss the target again, and Spot patiently hand her another marble. "They make a cute couple."

Sig, who had currently been caught up in conversation with his friend Prince, offered Ninja a brief and confused, "They're not together. Spot ain't looking for a girl, and she's with that bum that tried to get in your skirt a couple months back." Ryker was infamous even in other boroughs.

Ninja nodded and heaved a sigh when Sig, figuring the conversation was over at that point, turned back to his conversation with Prince. It wasn't that Sig was dumb; she knew better than that. He just didn't give a damn about anything she did, as far as she could see, and very rarely feigned an interest in the conversation cues she was constantly throwing at him. An attractive girl with short black hair and dark blue eyes, she didn't run into trouble gaining both wanted and unwanted attention from most others of the opposite gender. However, when it came to Sig, she sometimes felt as if she was dating a wooden pole.

A wooden pole with a best friend attached, she thought to herself as Prince made some comment that sent to the two men into a fit of laughter. She liked Prince well enough, and she supposed he and Sig made good friends, as Prince seemed to bring out the uninhibited and fun side of her usually tough, rigid boyfriend. It was amusing to see them together as well, with Sig's huge bulky frame and pale blonde hair up next to the much smaller, dark-haired Prince. However, every now and then, she surely wouldn't mind having her boyfriend's attention all to herself!

Seeming to catch on that something was amiss (no real surprise, as it seemed to Ninja that Prince was always more in-tune with his companions' feelings), Prince leaned over to her. "Everything okay?"

"Sure," she smiled, covering up her bemused expression immediately. "Just a little caught up with all that stuff Relic was saying. I'm just glad we don't have trouble like that here, thanks to Spot. Real shame when a thing like that happens to a kid."

True to her word to Jack, Relic had delivered the bad news immediately upon her arrival at the docks. Spot had listened, because he seemed to have a soft spot when it came to listening to the girl, but had eventually shrugged it off. After all, Manhattan's problems, terrible as they might be, weren't really Brooklyn's. That didn't stop the docks from immediately bustling with the news, however.

"Sure is. I'm glad we're not involved, though next time I see a guy from Midtown, I'll probably soak him. I mean, killing a kid, fellow newsie at that.," Bristol, a very popular newsboy with black hair and striking green eyes, slipped in as he sat down next to the trio. "Life goes on, though. Kind of funny that all that mess is going on over there; they're supposed to be the peaceful ones. Everything has been so calm and quiet around here late – ouch! Mother of-"

The man, who went on to say some words that only a Brooklyn street kid would – and should – know, had managed to catch a marble right to his cheekbone, courtesy of Relic's slingshot. The girl in question was red-faced and shouting apologies, while Spot stood behind her, laughing too hard to speak.

Bristol grudgingly rubbed what would probably soon become a black eye, before finally, in true Bristol fashion, waving it off and laughing lightly. "Like I was saying, we have enough problems of our own to worry about theirs."

"Think this'll effect our big poker game we're supposed to be having with all them next weekend?" Prince inquired, looking a bit downcast at the idea. The life of a New York newsie wasn't exactly filled with thrills and fun; losing one of those rare opportunities was downright painful.

Sig shook his head. "Nah, Spot's hosting it here. They all know better than to start something over here, and besides, not too many people from Midtown were invited in the first place. My guess is they won't show up."

"Hope not," Ninja said simply. "We could all use a break."

Bristol smiled cheerfully, rubbing his aching cheekbone once more. "Ain't that the truth."


	6. The Heat Is On

**(Author's Note - Thank you so much to Pegasus, Shooter, Cap, Aris1013 and Talia for the feedback! Featured in this chapter are Jake, Peg Leg, Pegasus, Big Shot/Mousetrap, Avalanche and Quick!)**

**Chapter 5: The Heat Is On**

by **Firecracker**

Peg Leg glanced over his shoulder before ducking around the corner on his journey uptown towards his usual selling spot. Much to the dismay of himself and many of the others, things still hadn't calmed down since that poor Manhattan boy was beaten to death on one of their streets. Word had gotten around quickly that Jack and his boys were planning a war, and that made him nervous. Really nervous. If there was to be a war, every single one of them would have to fight and he wasn't quite sure if he would be able to. After all, what good would a man with one decent leg do? He'd only make them fall behind or, worse yet, he might lose the only good leg he had left.

He ran a quick hand through his reddish brown hair before he stepped back onto the sidewalk, the wooden peg on the bottom of his right leg scraping dully along the pavement with each step -- a painful reminder of the price he once paid for choosing a side in a very similar situation. He continued down the sidewalk in silence, his mind swirling with jumbled thoughts and the sounds of his own leg scraping along the sidewalk when he heard a voice shout from behind him. His first reaction was to turn around and hit the bastard that interrupted his thoughts during such a nerve-wracking time, but he refrained. Instead, he turned around slowly, a slightly annoyed look taking over his face.

"Heya, Peg," Jake greeted him casually as he finally caught up to the boy. He had been following Peg Leg for about three block already but couldn't seem to get his attention until just then. Flashing him a playful grin, the tall boy in the bowler hat lightly patted his shoulder. "You okay? Cat got your tongue?"

"I'm. . .fine," Peg Leg replied curtly, his jaw still clenched in reaction to Jake's sudden interruption. He relaxed slowly, his head shaking just a little. After all, this boy had to be just as nervous as he was, right? "Just, things are a little tense, you know? With Jack and the war and everything."

"I know," Jake agreed, his large hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "You don't hafta worry though. Jack, he knows what he's doin'."

"I sure hope so," Peg Leg said in reply, his forehead slowly wrinkling. "Wait, what are you doing up here, anyway? I thought you sold by the harbor."

Jake froze, his eyes growing wide. He had to think of an excuse -- and fast. "Just keeping' an eye on things," he lied as he casually shoved his hands into his pockets. "You know, makin' sure that no Midtown boys take out another one of our kids."

"Oh. . ." Peg Leg said with a nod, his voice trailing off. "Well, you just be careful, yourself. Who knows what they might do." He clapped his hand against his friend's shoulder before walking off, the wooden sound of his peg leg disappearing in the distance.

Jake watched Peg Leg walk away, a feeling of relief washing over him. That was a close one! He lingered on the corner for a little longer before heading in the opposite direction, hopefully he wasn't late!

* * *

Gunner walked away from a nearby produce stand, slipping an apple silently into his pocket on his way. Hearing two unfamiliar voices, he stopped abruptly and noticed the two Manhattan boys. What in the world were they doing there? His blue eyes narrowed disapprovingly as he gave his companion a light nudge with his elbow. "Who do they think they are?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "Don't they know they're not welcome here?

Quick smirked slightly at the other boy's remark and offered him a quick laugh. "We've got nothing' to worry about," he replied as he leaned back against a nearby building, his arms crossing over his chest as they continued to watch the exchange between the two Manhattan boys. "You know they won't lift a finger without Brooklyn to back them up! You know what they're like? They're like those rich, snooty mugs we sell the papers to, think they're better than everybody. They talk and talk and talk, but what do they do? Nothin'! They call in the bigger boys to do their dirty work!"

Gunner nodded slowly, the other boy definitely had a point, but that didn't mean that he liked seeing them in his territory. As far as he was concerned, they weren't high on his list at the moment. "I guess you're right," he agreed with a small sigh. "Let's just go home before they start somethin'." Silently, he began to walk again, their conversation halted by his eagerness to return to the safety of the lodging house.

"Trust me, Gunner," Quick repeated confidently. "You've seem them yourself. They've got nothing but cripples down there. You worry too much." Finally, the lodging house came into view and their pace quickened as they jogged up the stairs into the lodging house.

"I'm not worried about them or us, Quick. Just, these girls," Gunner continued with a shrug, "they don't deserve to live in fear of bullies like the Manhattan boys."

"Clearly, you don't know these girls like I know them," Quick teased as they walked inside. He removed his hat and shoved it in his back pocket before continuing up the stairs. "Our girls, they're smart. You'll see. Besides, Manhattan won't do a damn thing to us anyway."

"Watch your language, there's ladies here," a voice from behind him reprimanded playfully. Quick turned around, well, quickly, and rolled his eyes in fake dismay as Pegasus came wandering casually down the stairs. She stopped in front of the pair of boys, her dark eyebrows arching questioningly. "Is that any way you treat a lady?"

Quick looked down at the shorter girl, a playful grin coming across his face. "Actually, it is," he teased, playfully elbowing Gunner in hopes that he'd play along.. "But really, you show me a lady and then we'll talk."

Gunner simply smirked as he watched the exchange between the pair. Hey, at least it was keeping his mind off Jack and those other Manhattan boys! "I'm just gonna. . . Go upstairs," he finally replied after a quick pause. "You two figure this one out on your own." He carefully squeezed past Quick and continued his climb up the stairs, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he disappeared around the corner.

Once Gunner was gone, Pegasus returned her attention to Quick, her hands resting lightly on her hips. "See," she began with a laugh, "even your friend knows you wouldn't be able to handle a lady."

"Nah, he's just jealous because he knows how much you're in love with me," he answered playfully as he climbed a few more stairs. He paused once he reached the top and looked back down at the girl with a smirk, he just loved to joke with her -- unlike some girls, she seemed to take it really well.

A slow blush crept up towards Pegasus's cheeks until it filled her entire face. Quickly, she shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint you," she replied casually in her semi-flustered state, "but I think it's the other way around." She turned away from the boy and, without another word, continued down the stairs and walked into the lobby. "That boy, I swear!"

"What boy?" Avalanche asked curiously as he looked up at Pegasus from his seat on the old wooden bench that ran the length of the far wall.

"Oh, no one," Pegasus replied quickly, her head shaking as she took at the other side of the bench, her eyes fixed on the nearby window. "Just someone with the ego of all those Manhattan boys combined."

"That's a big ego," he quipped as a loud laugh pushed its way out of in between his thin lips. His green eyes remained fixed on the girl as he watched her, she seemed preoccupied with something. His laughter soon faded as his forehead creased with concern. "Are you really worried about those Manhattan boys?

"I don't know, Avalanche," she replied with a sigh as she continued out the window. She saw Mousetrap and Big Shot walk by and she waved slowly. Oh, how she almost envied them! Quickly, she pulled her eyes away from the happy couple and returned her attention to the boy at the other end of the bench. "I hope nothing happens. It's just a shame, a darn shame."

* * *

Big Shot slowly took Mousetrap's hand in his, closing it slowly over her much smaller one. "Are you sure you can't come out with me tonight?" he asked quietly, a look of disappointment taking over his face, his green eyes focused on her intently. Maybe she'd change her mind!

Mousetrap nodded quickly, chewing on her lower lip as she immediately looked down. She'd rather look at her old, worn shoes than at the hurt expression on his face -- it was almost as if his eyes were burning into her! "I'm sure," she answered almost inaudibly. "Me and the girls, we got something planned tonight." She slowly pulled her hand out from his and quickly buried it in her pocket. With a little luck, there wouldn't be any more questions. After all, it wasn't a complete lie -- she and the girls _did_ have plans, they just didn't have the _same_ ones.

"Well, all right," he finally conceded, his disappointment only growing. He leaned down and kissed her cheek softly. "Just be careful, okay? Who knows what those Manhattan boys might do."


	7. Only Time Will Tell

**(Author's Note – Hello again! Here's the long-overdue next chapter! Thank you to Styx67, Talia, Pegasus and Cap for feedback! Featured in this chapter are Firecracker/Dutchy, Mush, Gunner, Big Shot, Spot, Relic/Ryker, Rachel and Skittery. Guest appearances by Avalanche, Jack, Erin and Bristol. Leave some feedback, let us know you're still reading this thing!)**

**Chapter 6: Only Time Will Tell**

by **Relic**

"And – wait for it, wait for it – the woman says to me, she says, which jackass are you talking about, my donkey or my husband?" Dutchy slapped the table at the closing of his story as he and everyone nearby burst into gales of laughter. Soon pleas came for him to tell more stories, and after taking a quick drink, he opted to oblige. "Okay, alright, I got another one. Guy wants to buy a pape, but he needs me to make change…"

Oh no, not the 'change' story again. Firecracker managed to contain her impending eye-roll, but just barely. It wasn't that Dutchy didn't tell good story; his handsome face lit up, pushing back his spectacles after he got overly-animated retelling a sequence (which was the only time he _ever_ got overly-animated), he was a born storyteller. And decently hygienic. And perfectly attentive. And wonderfully nice. And always respectful. And a perfect boyfriend.

And she just wanted to scream.

At first, she'd thought the nagging little voice in her head was just her having a bad day. Then, when those moments began popping up that she felt a bit of resentment towards her perfect boyfriend being – once again – perfect, she'd wondered if it was maybe something more. And at last, when other boys began to look so appealing and spending time with Dutchy was more agonizing than selling papers all day in the scorching heat, she knew something had definitely changed. She had outgrown him.

The love that they had was just so much… puppy-love, as far as she could tell. The cute kisses they'd sneak when they got a moment alone, the holding hands while walking through the park, the silly little smiles they'd exchange when one caught the other looking at them.

But here now, a year later, he still asked permission to kiss her! Still insisted on being a perfect gentleman! All the initiation to move forward had been from her; he'd obliged, of course, and it was all generally enjoyable, but why did she always have to get things going? Wasn't he a man, weren't all men supposed to have _feelings_ like that? Was it too much to ask that he be the tiniest bit aggressive?

It seemed a bit shallow at first glance, so she kept it tightly to herself, though accepted the reasoning as fact. The truth, though, as much as she'd never admit it to herself or anyone else, was that if he wasn't interested in her like _that_, was he just not interested in her at all? A year was a long time, and people lost interest. What if he wasn't initiating anything because he simply wasn't interested in that kind of thing with her? He was far too nice a guy to ever break up with her. And deep down, as much as his perfection and her associated feelings of insecurity bothered her, he was her best friend and she didn't want to lose him.

"Change story again, huh?" She nearly jumped out of her seat at the whisper that came from directly next to her ear, breaking her train of thought. Stunned, she turned to face the intruder, and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw that it was only Mush, smiling his wide Mush-smile. "Sorry, did I scare ya?"

"Only your face," she told him, laughing and pushing his cap over his eyes.

"You're killing me. I thought you liked my mug? What about from this angle, huh?" He proceeded to turn his head to various awkward angles, making ridiculous faces until she was giggling breathlessly despite herself. "Come on, you look bored. You know he'll start on the buttons story next and that one's a good thirty minute-er, so let's go get a drink. He won't even miss you."

True enough. Dutchy had missed the whole exchange, he was so deep into his story. She used to find it pretty endearing, but now it was just pretty annoying. "Alright, but you're paying."

"For the woman who sets my heart on fire? Of course," Mush replied with a cheesy look that only he could pull off without looking like a total idiot. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her over to the bar, ordering two of whatever horrible, cheap drink they were all slinging back. "So, how's the night treating you? I saw you over there, you looked kinda down. Something wrong?"

"Oh, you know. Just tired, I guess," she offered, and the two shared a look that made it very obvious that neither of them believed that. "So, you were looking at me, hm?"

"It's pretty hard not to," he said simply, but held up a hand before she could reply and attempted to cover his very telling statement with a bit of humor. "I guess it's pretty lucky you're with Dutchy, huh? Don't know what I'd do with myself if you were single."

Fire bit her lip to think over Mush's thinly veiled 'joke', but that didn't quit do enough to stop her from blurting out, "I'm not with Dutchy right now."

Mush did a double-take, and indeed appeared to not quite know what to do with himself, as he looked between her and the drink trying to figure out if he was hallucinating or if she was serious. "You really shouldn't kid around like that, get a guy's hopes up," he offered, a bit lamely.

She looked intense, now. "I'm not kidding."

And so, he was stuck. On the one hand, Dutchy was his buddy, and this was his girl. And that would still be true in the morning, when the lights weren't so dim and there wasn't so much alcohol in his veins and she wasn't looking so pretty… And then he realized that during this thought process, his body had apparently opted to already lean forward and kiss the waiting girl. Well, so much for the rational road!

Fire finally pulled away, eyes wide. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"You're right," Mush agreed, adjusting his cap and thinking it over before grabbing her hand and pulling her out towards the back of the hall. "There's got to be a room or something. Too many people out here."

Fire allowed herself to be tugged along, finding it increasingly easier as the moments passed to justify this. Dutchy would never know, right? Of course. Who would it hurt? No one, certainly, if kept properly quiet. It was, she decided, a very harmless thing. Just a little fun, something exciting and out of the ordinary… finally.

No, she didn't want to lose Dutchy. But maybe just a few moments away from him wouldn't hurt.

* * *

Gunner looked at his companions once more, clearing his throat as he stopped outside the door behind which loud music and laughter could be heard. "Just remember, if we're gonna do this, no going off on your own and we all leave together, alright?"

Gunner waited for the nods from his companions, which they eventually gave. When Big Shot and Avalanche, along with a dozen or so of his other guys, had expressed interest in going to this party, Gunner had gotten that bad feeling in his gut that he always got before a particularly bad incident. Jet had agreed with Gunner and said the party was a no-go, what with 'Manhattan' (Duane Street) boys being invited.

However, at their constant nagging, he finally relented and allowed them to go, sending Gunner in his place as leader; Jet was certainly smart enough to know that he himself was currently a major target for being jumped. And it was true that some of the other boys' reasoning was dead-on; they had been invited, and the leader of Midtown turning down the leader of Brooklyn would not have been wise, especially when the leader of Brooklyn was Spot Conlon. And truthfully, right now, they needed all the allies they could get amidst all the tension and rumors surrounding this feud with Manhattan.

So, here he was. Parties weren't really his thing, but that apparently wasn't going to be a problem as the party seemed to come to a dead stop when he opened the door and stepped in. Conversation halted and all eyes were on them for what seemed, at least to Gunner, to be possibly the longest few seconds in the history of time.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Gunner knew that voice. He hadn't heard it since the strike, which was what he considered to be a distant memory now, but the voice of Jack Kelly stuck with a person. Especially when it was angry.

"We were invited," Gunner said calmly, sensing the tension both in the room and in his own boys, who were finding it rather uncomfortable to be so suddenly on the defensive. "If that changed, we didn't get the letter."

"Yeah, it changed. Now turn around and get out while this is still civil," Jack replied, now standing and looking rather fierce, despite his girlfriend Erin desperately tugging on him and trying to calm him down.

"This ain't your party, Kelly. Why don't you just sit back down," came Big Shot, clapping a hand on Gunner's shoulder in support. Besides, Big Shot thought a bit indignantly, where did they all get off being so angry? They started all this! Everyone in Midtown was just minding their own business; yeah, selling spots were tight, but they had enough to worry about without a feud in the picture. If anyone had a right to be angry, it was Midtown, in Big Shot's estimation.

"Why don't you come over here and make me, tough guy. I'm not a little kid on my own, so let's see how you do," Jack challenged.

Big Shot exchanged a confused look with Gunner, but any more talk was cut off by Spot Conlon's very formidable shouting. "What the hell is going on here?"

"You tell me, Conlon," Gunner said, earning himself a very cold look from Spot, but finding it worth it. A little disrespectful maybe, but so was being invited to a party that was apparently filled with people who wanted to beat him and his friends to a pulp. "You forget to send a message telling us our invitation had been revoked?"

"No. Midtown, Manhattan and Brooklyn were all invited, and they're all welcome. Any problems from over the bridge better stay over there." Avalanche moved to point out that they did not appear very welcome at all, evidently, but Gunner jabbed him in the side with his elbow. It was becoming fairly apparent by the fiercely annoyed look Spot shot Jack until the other man finally looked away that this was Spot's way of stopping the conflict, not ignoring it.

Slowly, very slowly, the people in the room went back to what they had been doing before the interruption. Jack sat back down after a particularly aggressive final yank from Erin, though his eyes never left the Midtown group, and Spot headed over, extending his hand to Gunner. "Was in the back getting some stuff, guess I missed the grand entrance. Where's Jet?"

Gunner shook Spot's hand firmly, shrugging slightly. "Didn't want to come, thought it might make things uncomfortable. Guess he was right."

"No kidding. Look, you were all invited and you can stay if you want; nobody in Brooklyn's got a problem with you. But a lot of people from Manhattan are around…" In other words, he could only protect them as far as the bridge, and after a party with so much drinking, with such high levels of tension…

Gunner got the gist, as did the rest of his friends. "Don't worry about it. Guess we didn't realize how bad this thing had gotten. We'll come around next time, after things have cooled off a little."

"Smart," Spot agreed, and Gunner managed not to smirk proudly at being on the receiving end of one of the man's rare compliments. "Tell Jet hello."

"Course," Gunner agreed. "I'm sure he'll stop by, let you know the next time we've got something going on in our area."

However, once the group was back outside with the door to the hall firmly closed, all pretenses dropped. Big Shot looked the most angry, but they all – save for Gunner, who was rather stoic – looked rather unhappy. "Hey great, that whole walk for nothing. We oughta do this more often."

"It's Conlon's party, why'd he invite us all if he knew there'd be trouble?" Avalanche demanded, earning several nods in agreement.

"He didn't know," Gunner offered neutrally, shrugging. "Besides, you really want to get going on him, have somebody hear and piss him off? Seems like we've got enough people ticked off at us."

"So, who's fault is that? We didn't do nothin'! Manhattan keeps pushing us around – now they even got us kicked outta parties – parties that we were invited to!" As opposed to the many they just crashed. Big Shot's last words would have been enough to break some smiles from his companions any other time, but not tonight.

Gunner frowned, but nodded after awhile. "You're right. We gotta do something, show them that this has gotta stop. They can't just walk all over us, turn our friends against us."

Avalanche cracked his knuckles for a moment, before leaning in as the group started to head back towards Manhattan. "Well, there's one thing that'll get their attention…"

* * *

Another smashing success. Spot smiled proudly – with only a little arrogance – at the party in front of him. He'd made his rounds, said his hellos, and now he could just kick back, and join in. With all the drinking and laughter and cheering, though, he figured he could use a cigarette break before joining back in again. After the moment earlier, and with all the stress built up surrounding the Midtown/Manhattan feud, he supposed, people needed to let loose, and were definitely doing so tonight.

Besides, he'd seen both Sig, undoubtedly off to find Prince and get into whatever trouble the two seemed so apt to find together, and Relic, with that bum she was dating whose name Spot refused to acknowledge knowing, head off in this direction. Since they were the only two people he liked to speak to that likely weren't fall-over drunk by this point, it couldn't hurt to see if they were out in the much quieter hallway.

No sign of Sig as he rounded the corner into the empty hallway, but he did hear Relic's voice – coming from the closet at the end of the hall. Oh great, a make-out session with the Loser Boyfriend. Rolling his eyes and feeling particularly scornful towards the girl for some reason, he turned to head back inside when he heard more words come from the closet – and noticed that they were very, very tense.

"I'm not kidding, I want to go back to the party. I didn't come all the way here for this, I want to see our friends, now come on." There was the strong girl he knew. Spot paused and decided that maybe he would light up a cigarette here. From the sounds of it, he might have someone to converse with soon.

He heard more angry words but couldn't make out what they were saying. Not that he was trying; Spot Conlon did not eavesdrop. …And if they'd just talk a little louder, dangit, he wouldn't have to! He was about to give up, when…

"Ryker, stop it. Come on, knock it off – stop it!"

Spot had had enough. Yanking open the closet door and finding, to no real surprise of his, a very surprised – and rather upset, for different reasons – couple, he used their moment of shock to his advantage and grabbed hold of Ryker. "Go cool off," he said simply as he dragged the other man out of the closet and away from the girl.

Ryker looked, for a moment, like he might just knock Spot out and go back to his previous activities, but then seemed to shrug it off all at once. For all of his bad qualities, no one could say Ryker wasn't smart; besides, as far as he was concerned, it wasn't worth it. "I'm cool as winter," he said finally, holding up his hands and offering a cocky smirk, though did walk away when he saw that Spot had no intention of leaving.

Relic stepped out of the closet and looked absolutely miserable, refusing to meet Spot's gaze. She was silent for awhile, until she noticed that he didn't seem to be moving on, and finally held out her hand. "Do you have an extra?"

"Yeah, sure." Grabbing another cigarette out of his pocket, he handed it over, moving to strike a match and light it for her. Thinking it best to ask, despite the rather obvious answer, he offered, "You okay?"

She gave him a shaky smile. "Yeah, no problem. You know how it goes; don't drink and kiss."

Yeah, he knew how it went. He ran Brooklyn, after all; he'd seen everything. "You oughta make these things a habit. Calms the nerves."

"Are you saying I'm jumpy?" she questioned, with another hint of a smile that dropped off her face instantly at his next words.

"No. But you're stupid." Watching as the girl's face fell, he silently groaned. This was why he couldn't handle too many girls; couldn't just tell them the truth, straight-like. Oh no, girls, they got all fragile, started to cry. Pain in the ass, trying to communicate with them, as far as he was concerned. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "He's going to do that again."

"I know," she replied dully.

This only served to further confuse and infuriate the poor man. She knew?! And she stuck around the guy anyway? Still, as much as he'd have liked to just call her an idiot and move on, he really seemed to have a soft-spot for her. So, he tried once more to explain the very obvious to him. "You're a good-lookin' girl. You could find somebody better, even in this crowd. Not like he does a thing for you."

"I know."

"He's not gonna change. Some guys are just like that. Whatever you're givin', won't be enough for him."

"I know."

Soft-spot or not, Spot Conlon was not a limitless fount of patience. "So what's the matter with you, huh? You don't get treated like dirt enough during the day by strangers in this city, want to go home to it, too? I really thought you were different. Smart, for one thing. I've been offering you a spot in Brooklyn for a month now, told you to come down, selling's better here, less girls, less competition. Get you away from the bum, at least enough he can't try somethin' like that without anyone seeing. But do you listen? You got the thickest skull I've ever seen! If you think I'm gonna have people runnin' around, saying what an idiot that friend of Spot Conlon's is for dating the biggest bast-"

"Really?" Her simple question paused his tirade instantly.

"Really, what?" he asked cautiously. Was this the part where the girl flipped him the bird and stormed off? That seemed to happen to him a lot with girls, at least from outside Brooklyn.

"You're really worried about what people are going to say?" Realizing by the look on his face that that was not anywhere near the response he'd been expecting, she shrugged. "I can't come to Brooklyn right now, not with everybody so tense with all this war talk going on. They'd think I was running off and hiding, or something. But I'll start coming by more often. Maybe the time apart would help me and Ryker, you know, get things working better."

What was wrong with this girl? Whatever it was, Spot wasn't going to push her. "Alright." They stood silent for a few minutes, smoking and collecting their thoughts. Finally, Spot couldn't take it anymore. "So, yelling at you, that's your motivator, huh?"

"Nope," she said, before shooting him a smile and dropping her cigarette, grinding it under her heel. "You've never said I was your friend, before. Now come on, you promised me a game of poker."

"That's what did it?" The statement caught him a bit off guard, and he gave the girl a quizzical look despite tossing his cigarette and moving to head back into the party. Still, it bothered him a bit for a reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, so though the girl was too far ahead and out of earshot now, he said simply,

"I didn't know I needed to."

* * *

The party had lasted deep into the night, and though there was still drinking and debauchery going on, Rachel decided she was ready to head home. More than ready, in fact; if it hadn't been for Skittery looking so happy that she hated to pull him away from it to walk her home, she would have been gone some time ago. But, now that Skittery had gambled away all his money, she seized her opportunity and dragged him to the door.

"Did you have fun?" she asked idly, as she stuck her hands into her pockets and smiled at him as he opened the door for her, stepping out.

"Sure did. Hope I have better luck next time, though. What about you, was the noise too much?" he questioned, following her out.

"No, and it was nice to see everyone. Thank heavens tomorrow is my morning off from the shop; I don't know how you all are going to manage to wake up and sell newspapers. Half of them are going to still be half-drunk in the morning, anyway," she said, laughing lightly as a very obviously drunk fellow newsboy stumbled past them, waving as he sang some terribly distorted sailor's tune. "Like him, for instance."

"Most of 'em won't, probably. The ones that do will manage because they'll wake up and realize they're broke after gamblin' away all their money tonight," Skittery laughed.

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they walked on. They were always comfortable together; it was what Rachel loved about her friend. They'd been best friends for some time now; in fact, next month would be the two-year mark. When they'd met, it was an instant connection, like something she'd read about in books. And since then, it had proved itself to not be a fluke; they'd been, for the most part, figuratively connected at the hip.

"You cold? I brought my coat," Skittery offered.

Rachel smiled. Skittery was forever concerned with her wellbeing, though he never showed it around anyone but her. He had an image to protect, after all; she wasn't exactly sure what that image _was_, but she just went with it. Anyway, she found it sweet. He'd make some girl a great boyfriend some day. Not that it would particularly bother her to be that girl…

Truthfully, she supposed, it wouldn't be a far stretch to move to a 'couple' status, though the two had privately never broached the topic. It just seemed to never come up, and even when friends brought it up, it was so awkward that they'd deny it vehemently. Maybe this walk would be a good time to finally bring up the topic, so that they could –

"Rachel."

Skittery had stopped short so quickly that she bumped right into him, and the low tone in his voice when he spoke her name cut into her thoughts completely. Something was wrong. "What is it?"

"Look at that guy over there," Skittery said quietly as he pointed to a lump on the sidewalk across the street from them.

On first glance, he simply looked like a drunk passed out on the sidewalk to her; however, after looking more closely, she saw that his body seemed to shudder when he took in a breath. Even if he was a drunk, he didn't look good. "Should we go over there?" she asked, now feeling a slight sense of panic at all the things that could potentially be wrong with the stranger.

"Hey! Hey you, you okay?" When Skittery's shouting got no response, he frowned, and glanced at Rachel. "Stay over here under the light, okay? If it turns out to be a trick, just run."

If she hadn't be so very suddenly frightened, she would have been faster at telling him that that plan was unacceptable. As it was, though, by the time she formed the words, he was already halfway across the street.

She watched as he flipped over the man, and immediately dropped down and let off some curse words she wasn't quite sure she had been aware that he even knew. "Skittery? What's wrong? Is he okay?"

At the lack of response, she came over, and immediately wished she hadn't. The handsome face of Bristol, one of the few Brooklyn newsies she knew (due mostly to his heavy British accent and his friendly demeanor), was almost unrecognizable from all the bruises that were now upon it. The rest of what she could see of him, she noted, didn't look much better. "Oh my – what happened?"

Skittery moved to help the boy up with Rachel's help, and after a moment gave her a tight, humorless smile. "Midtown just gave Brooklyn a reason to get involved."


End file.
